The Port's Left

(Or at least I think the port’s left. If starboard’s left then my little joke doesn’t really work so well).

Anyway, the port’s gone – hurray! In and out and home on the sofa with Phil and Holly and some weird magician types who cure phobias live on telly by half 11. And the pain is nowhere near as bad as when it went in, so I’ve managed to stay more-or-less upright not yet hobble around like a hunch-backed 90 year old. Which is nice.

Rather excitingly, it was all done under local anaesthetic so I got to see the ever-brilliant Mr W in action. It’s all a bit weird having a local – apparently it dulls your pain receptors but not your feeling receptors so while it doesn’t hurt, you can feel someone tugging on something in your chest. They do kindly put a bit of cloth round your chin, so you can’t see what’s going on, although having said that, I’m not sure that might not actually be quite fun… All in, I had the local at 9.35 and was lying back on the ward having a cup of tea by 10. I swear, the man’s a miracle worker.

It was pretty darned ace being in the operating theatre and actually knowing about it – usually the second my feet go through the swing doors into the room I’m out for the count, but I got to see everything that goes on. So now I feel like I know a bit more about what’s happened before. And, he also showed me the port after it had come out and it was MASSIVE (the bottom was about the diameter of a 50p, if not a little bigger). No wonder I could feel the sodding thing. All in all, quite an informative little morning (I’m SUCH a geek!).

So all this means I’m clean as a whistle and good to go and get on with the next bit – radiotherapy planning on Tuesday.